


In Memory (of you and me).

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin thinks he could go blind and he’d still see the gold that surrounds Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memory (of you and me).

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much neathsunnyskies, for the beta.

Merlin stares out of the window, one finger tracing over his left eyebrow again and again. He doesn’t see the servants pass in the courtyard below. He doesn’t see the knights returning from patrol. He should go out and help them dismount even though Arthur isn’t with them. But because Merlin doesn’t see, he stays where he is.

He can feel the dragon’s call. It isn’t an outright demand, yet. Just an awareness that he has something to say. Merlin ignores it. All of it. The call, the reason, his own desperate attempt to pretend nothing is the matter, because --

Because.

Gaius comes and calls his name. Merlin doesn’t hear him. He just sits there, staring into space. Gaius shakes his head and walks away.

The emptiness awaiting him is like a great big hole, black and swelling and unavoidable, but he isn’t ready for it yet. He never will be, not now, not ever. It will come, he knows, but he can put it off for a little while longer. So that is why, when Arthur finds him with his usual loud voice and _there you are, Merlin, being the useless servant as usual, what are you doing anyway, counting the bricks in the wall?_ , Merlin’s smile is genuine and wide. It always lifts a little bit of the burden off Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur, who means to scowl but only manages to look comical with his mouth tilting into a grin.

“Shall we go riding?” Merlin asks, jumping down from the dais he was sitting on. “Can we, Arthur?” Merlin feels a lightness flowing through his veins, which contrasts with his earlier mood so severely that he feels like he could actually fly, if he tried. If he climbed to the very turrets of the castle and jumped, the air would only carry him higher and higher and he would never fall.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, trying to look exasperated, like Merlin is a little child who needs to understand that adults -- princes in particular -- have responsibilities. Only, he doesn’t quite succeed. His eyes are soft and fond and look up at Merlin with a warmth that could heat the entire castle in the middle of winter. Arthur sighs. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I’d love to.”

“Excellent!” Merlin beams. “Get out of your armor and I will go saddle the horses.”

“You are _supposed_ to help me out of my armor, you dolt!” Arthur yells after him as Merlin runs down the steps two at a time. But Merlin only laughs, the sound of it bouncing off the castle walls, warming them as the tingling notes of laughter filter down.

The afternoon promises a race that Arthur will win, of course, and then they have to stop by a trickling creek to water the exhausted horses. Arthur will never waste an opportunity to strip off his kit and get into the water, splashing Merlin as much as possible along the way. Then they’ll lie side by side in the sun until they are dry and too hot, and Merlin thinks he could go blind and he’d still see the gold that surrounds Arthur. They’ll move to the shade where it is cooler and Arthur will prop his chin on Merlin’s bare shoulder, looking at him like he knows every single thought in Merlin’s mind.

“You love me,” Arthur will say, and he will mean it to sound entitled and smug, but his eyes will betray the wonder and the tiniest rivulet of doubt. Merlin will have no choice, then, but to kiss Arthur. Because his chest will contract until he can’t breathe anymore, for if anyone deserves to be loved, it is Arthur. And not from afar by his people, or from an arm’s length by Uther, or from a memory-not-quite-remembered hidden behind the veil of Death by Ygraine. He deserves to be loved wholly and devotedly, with mind, body and soul until there is room for nothing else. He deserves to be loved the way Merlin loves him, the way Merlin will do anything, _anything_ , for him.

“Yes,” Merlin will murmur against the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “Yes,” he will promise against Arthur’s closed eyelids. And, “yes,” he will worship into the dip where Arthur’s throat meets his jaw.

Arthur will spread Merlin bare, then, he will take his promises and keep them for himself, he will draw Merlin’s essence to the very core of his body until Merlin cries out and spills his desire into Arthur’s mouth. And still Arthur will not have had enough, because Arthur knows, he _knows_ Merlin means it. He knows he will never find another half that fits him so wholly.

But in the end, when the dragon’s call becomes an unbearable ache that makes Merlin weak and Arthur worry about the blackness beneath his eyes, Merlin answers.

He goes to the cave even though he knows what the dragon will say. He knows what is coming and tears drip down his cheeks to the rhythm of the water trickling down the cavern walls.

“I know,” he says, before Kilgharrah has a chance to speak. “I know.”

For once, the dragon is not spiteful or goading. For once, he does not mockingly laugh at the appearance of the small wizard who holds the power of words forgotten and yet to come. For once, he looks as he feels. Sorrowful.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Kilgharrah says, his voice a soft hum vibrating through Merlin’s ribcage. “You cannot have him.”

“Camelot needs an heir,” Merlin says, and the words feel like a blade being ripped from his throat.

“Or it will fall.”

And that, _that_ is the one thing, Merlin knows, that will break Arthur.

Arthur could lose Merlin and mourn. If Arthur lost Camelot, he would die the deaths of all the people he was supposed to unite.

Merlin kisses Arthur one last time, sweet and lingering and terrible, because it would have been better to never have known this than to give it up forever.

Arthur stirs, but doesn’t wake. Merlin spreads his fingers over Arthur’s body and his tears are stained golden, Arthur’s golden, as he casts the spell.

Tomorrow Arthur will barely know Merlin for more than the physician’s apprentice. Tomorrow, Arthur will remember Gwen being the one to pull him out of the way of the knife. He will remember Gwen being the one who sits with him late at night when the day has been awful and nothing else will bring him peace. He will take Gwen riding to the edge of the forest, where they will map each other’s bodies and drink each other’s hearts. He will press her fingertips to his mouth and whisper promises he heard from Merlin first.

When Merlin walks out of Arthur’s room, he doesn’t need to climb to the very turrets of the castle to know that he will be endlessly falling.

[Fin]

**Author's Note:**

> [ Here at LJ.](http://rufflefeather.livejournal.com/18011.html)


End file.
